


if it's not you, it's not anyone

by americancandy



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Daddy Aramis, I have no idea what I’m doing, Kid Fic, M/M, please be nice to me, the last time i wrote fanfic was at least five years ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28570896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/americancandy/pseuds/americancandy
Summary: The Office AU. Everyone in the office knows that Porthos and Aramis are dating except for Aramis.
Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/Porthos du Vallon, d'Artagnan/Constance Bonacieux
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37





	if it's not you, it's not anyone

**Author's Note:**

> i have not written a fanfiction in what seems like a hundred years so i'm so sorry in advance for the quality/pacing/general literary bastardization of this fic. i would love help/a beta but don't know anyone in fandom anymore so if anyone is willing to help me out, i'd appreciate it!
> 
> also, it would probably be helpful to admit that the only version of the office that i've seen is the UK one so i'm sorry about that too HAHAHA

As most problems in Aramis’ life start, this one begins with Treville.

He’s a great man and a great boss but he’s also a pain in the ass that loves to challenge his employees at every turn so it’s no surprise when he places the new guy under Aramis’ supervision. Aramis isn’t even the best salesman at the company, he’s just the one who’s been there the longest and knows the ropes better than anyone else, so he gets saddled with the responsibility over Athos, who has seniority in position but not by years. All in all, it’s really very unfair.

“Why can’t you give him to Porthos? Porthos’ numbers are always better than mine. He’s better at wheeling and dealing,” Aramis pleads with Treville, though he knows it’s no use. Once Treville has made up his mind about something, there’s no going back.

“And you’re better at charming the customer. I’d rather d’Artagnan learn that before anything else. Porthos will be next to tutor him. Besides that, this is your punishment for your numbers the past three months,” Treville says without any humor at all. “You’re dismissed. Any more arguing and I’ll have you clean the bathrooms.”

Aramis is a little scandalized since they’ve specifically set that job aside for Brujon, the HR intern who’s too gun-shy to say anything about it.

He goes back to his desk, positioned between Grimaud and Porthos, and sighs loudly so they know he’s in need of attention.

“What’s wrong now? Has Treville finally decided to let you go now that he knows all that you do all day is send little love letters back and forth to Porthos?” Grimaud, one of their IT professionals, asks. 

“If you tried harder I’m sure we could work some sort of correspondence out, Grimaud,” Aramis replies without any sort of tact.

“Don’t you two ever get bored of having the same argument every day?” Porthos asks them with faux-weariness in his voice. Aramis just grins over at him.

“No. Anyways, Treville isn’t firing me. He’s giving me an assignment. Which is worse,” Aramis sighs again, folding his arms down on his desk so he can rest his head on top of them. “I’m a good person. I have done nothing to deserve this.”

“What’s the assignment? Can’t be that bad. I could help,” Porthos offers immediately. Porthos has always been a great friend to Aramis at work, jumping in to help when he’s overwhelmed or not meeting his numbers or in need of a bit of a cuddle in the breakroom. And maybe they do have a very long chain e-mail where they talk shit about a few select people (Treville knows about it and secretly agrees with them so he pretends to remain blissfully ignorant of it).

“It’s a new guy. I have to train him for the next month and a half. Show him everything. Just because I’ve worked here for seven years doesn’t mean I know everything. I’m an idiot,” Aramis says through the fabric of his dress shirt. “This should’ve gone to Athos. He’s senior sales manager.”

“You are an idiot,” Grimaud agrees, Aramis shooting him a look.

“Athos is on paternity leave for another two weeks. And when he gets back he’ll just be calling Sylvie every ten minutes to make sure the baby’s okay. He’s like that. Remember how you were when Louis was born?” Porthos reminds Aramis with a small laugh. Aramis sighs, allowing the concession but not particularly happy about it. 

“Can you both shut the fuck up while everyone else works? Please?” Grimauld asks them. 

Aramis does, but only because he’s too tired to argue.

—

Aramis tries his best to get his numbers up throughout the rest of the week to try to placate Treville but it doesn’t really work, because on Friday afternoon just as he’s about to leave, Treville stops by his desk and says, “I want you in early on Monday morning so I can give you d’Artagnan’s training plan. It shouldn’t take us long to go over it.”

Grimaud is already gone for the day so Aramis feels comfortable with complaining as freely as he wants to with Porthos. “I’m going to die,” he tells Porthos seriously. “I am unqualified for this. And I don’t want to do it.”

“Aramis, you’re taking this too seriously. He’s probably just another regular idiot off the street that King picked. Remember Rochefort? Didn’t even last a month,” Porthos rolls his eyes as he tugs on his leather jacket. Aramis can smell the musk of it from where he stands, the leftover cologne and sandalwood of his cologne, and tries not to think too much about it. Curse his traitorous, horny brain.

“Rochefort tried to force himself onto Ninon in Marketing,” Aramis reminds Porthos.

“Well maybe this one’ll try to force himself on you,” Porthos says drily.

“Well, I never,” Aramis replies, faux scandalized. “You know very well I’m a changed man. I’m divorced. I no longer answer to the feral needs of my body.”

This isn’t strictly true, of course. Sometimes Aramis brings home the odd or girl boy for a laugh — but it never goes beyond that. He doesn’t date anymore, not after the divorce and certainly not after The Great Realization that can never come to fruition.

“Yeah, I’m sure that taught you a lesson. Anyways, Constance and Elodie and I are going out for a drink tonight to celebrate her divorce. Do you want to come?” Porthos asks. He knows Aramis too well - that he’s always been a bit of a slut, and that it got him into trouble especially five years ago when he got Anne pregnant. 

Anne had been secretary at The King’s Company, a paper distributor, when she’d gotten pregnant and had immediately resigned. Treville had been furious, as he’d liked Anne immensely, and Aramis had nearly lost his job for the ensuing HR nightmare it caused. They’d gotten married almost immediately and nine months later, little Louis came along.

They’d divorced two years ago, agreeing that they were really better off as friends, and are on good terms with each other, the two of them sharing custody of Louis. Sometimes they even spend time with him together, explaining that Papa and Mama are just friends now but still love each other and him very much and they have a very special family.

Tonight is one of those nights, when Aramis is off to pick up Anne so they could take Louis to see some kid’s movie together. It’s in Spanish — they’re trying to teach it to Louis since they’re both fluent — and Aramis is looking forward to it a little.

“Nope, date with Anne and Lou. Spanish film for kids,” Aramis replies, tugging on his own jacket.

“You two are so posh. Kid’s going to grow up thinking he’s smarter than everybody else. Just like his dad,” Porthos says with a good natured laugh, his white teeth showing. Porthos laughs like he’s never had care in the world, like the sun is shining right through his teeth. That was one of the things that Aramis learned during The Great Revelation several reasons ago and still has coping with every single day. 

Still, Aramis laughs back, knowing that Porthos is right. He’s going to miss seeing Constance and Elodie, who are both a laugh. Constance’s ex-husband, Jacques, was a wife-beating asshole who never deserved her and Aramis would like to see her kiss him goodbye officially.

“Thanks so much. I gotta go, I’ll call you tomorrow. I have Lou all weekend, maybe you could come to the park with us?” Aramis suggests. Sometimes Porthos joins him and Louis on their boys’ weekends and they all have fun. Louis calls him Uncle Porthos and loves to play with him and Porthos’ dog, a beautiful Dalmatian named Rochelle.

“Sure. Give my love to Anne,” Porthos replies before they walk out into the breezy March air together.

—

“I don’t think it’s unfair, Aramis. Treville expects you to perform just as he would any other salesman. I know you’re a favorite of his but you can’t take advantage,” Anne tells Aramis sensibly as they walk down the street towards the movie theatre. Louis is between them, each of them holding one of his little hands, and humming a Disney song to himself that Aramis can’t place. He was expecting sympathy from Anne when he told her of his plight at work but should have known that with her sensibility he wouldn’t get it. She’s always been much more serious than him, one of the things that made their marriage incompatible in the long run.

“I’m not trying to take advantage, it’s just a lot of responsibility. This just feels like a lot of pressure. God, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” Aramis tells her, blowing a hair out of his eyes. “I feel like I’m in a rut.”

Anne made a thoughtful noise, turning to look at him. “Well, you’ve worked there for seven years in the same position and never been asked to train somebody so maybe Treville is trying to help motivate you. I can’t figure out what you need, though, Aramis. Not in general. I certainly couldn’t give it to you,” Anne says, Aramis making a wounded noise.

“Hey, hey,” he said, Anne holding up her other hand and shaking her head.

“No, no, it’s the truth. We both know that. The same could be said for you about me. We don’t need to be sad about it. We’re enjoying a nice evening out with our wonderful son so let’s just put the serious talk away for the night,” she tells him with a little smile before looking down at Louis. “Louis, isn’t it nice to have Papa along with us to see the movie? Are you excited to practice your Spanish?”

“Spanish is fun,” Louis agrees easily, lifting his arms up to Aramis. “Papa, hold me. It’s cold outside. I want to cuddle.”

They’re the only ones at the showing of the film as it turns out, save for a couple of teenagers that are making out in the back, so neither Anne nor Aramis minds chatting a bit during it.

“What does Porthos think of all this?” Anne asks Aramis, who’s pouring a handful of M&M’s into his hand. 

“Porthos? I don’t know. That I’m making a big deal out of nothing. But he would think that. His numbers are always great and everybody loves him. Jackass,” Aramis replies easily.

Porthos met Anne at a work Christmas party four years ago and had gotten her to laugh more than even Aramis could. He and Anne, Athos and his wife Sylvie, and Porthos began to hang out regularly after that, Aramis and Anne getting a babysitter for Louis so they could enjoy time with their friends. And although Anne rarely sees Porthos or Athos now, Aramis knows that she’s in regular contact with Sylvie and had even gone to visit her at the hospital when the baby was born.

All in all, Aramis could not ask for a more understanding, gentle, loving ex-wife in the world and he was exceptionally lucky for it.

“You really don’t deserve him,” Anne says pointedly, her eyes not leaving the screen as she eats a bright green Skittle.

“I know,” Aramis agrees.

“Give him my love,” Anne says.

“I’m supposed to give his to you,” Aramis says with a laugh.

Louis shushes them both, and then they’re silent for the rest of the film, occasionally sharing amused glances at each other over their son’s head.

—

Louis wakes him up at a stupid time the next morning, patting his father’s cheeks and singing a song that Aramis had taught him in Spanish. He’s really getting quite good at it, and Aramis and Anne are both glad that their heritage is living on in their son in this way, even if they are proud Frenchmen now.

“Louis, please, it’s so early,” Aramis groans, looking over at the clock to see that it’s just gone seven in the morning. Sometimes he doesn’t even wake up this early for work.

“Can we play with Porthos and Rochelle this morning? I haven’t seen him in years, Papa,” Louis says without much thought for Aramis’ sleep schedule. 

“Baby, he might not even be awake yet. I’m not even awake yet,” Aramis grumbles, sitting up and pulling Louis into his lap. He turned five in January — his and Anne’s New Years’ surprise — and he’s getting just shy of too big to be curled into Aramis’ side but he refuses to stop indulging his son. 

“I’ll call him! Can I call him?” Louis suggests brightly. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Aramis reaches over to pick his phone up from the dresser and unlock it. Porthos is in his Favorites so it doesn’t take long for him to dial the number and put it on speaker, laying back down so Louis can talk to him.

“Aramis, it’s seven in the fucking — “

“Uncle Porthos!” Louis intercedes before Porthos can even finish, already excited. Aramis smiles and reaches over to ruffle Louis’ hair, propping his own head up with his elbow, his head resting on his hand.

“Louis? Is that my most favorite nephew? Why are you calling me so early? Do I need to come take you away from your mean, nasty Papa?” Porthos asks, the rasp of sleep still behind his voice. Aramis can almost picture his friend still curled up in bed too, the comforter pulled up to his chin and the phone cradled in his big hand.

“Porthos! Papa isn’t mean and nasty,” Louis says, though he’s laughing loudly. “I want to play with you and Rochelle. And show you my Spanish! And play cadets and captains! Please? Papa will buy us breakfast, won’t you, Papa?” 

Aramis makes a little noise of dissent, grabbing the phone from Louis’ hand. “I never said I would do that,” he says into the phone. 

“Then I guess me and Rochelle have to stay home,” Porthos says with a loud sigh of faux resignation. “I told you your Papa was mean and nasty, Lou.”

“PAPA! Pleeeease! I’ll be so good!” Louis cries out, and Aramis has never been able to refuse the sight of Louis’ brown eyes going big and watery like Anne can. 

“Fine. I’ll buy us all breakfast. But Uncle Porthos has to be on his best behavior, too,” Aramis says pointedly, Porthos laughing raspily on the other end.

“I always am,” Porthos says, and with that the call is over. 

— 

Porthos is waiting at their usual breakfast spot, Christophe’s, with Rochelle when they get there. Christophe’s is an old and casual greasy spoon that doesn’t strictly allow animals but Porthos has been a regular there since he was a teenager so they don’t say anything to him about her. Aramis is just lucky he gets to tag along.

“Rochelle!” Louis immediately runs towards the dog when they get inside, throwing his arms around her. She’s a gentle giant and takes the abuse with her usual patience, giving Louis a lick on the cheek and letting him pet her as much as he wants. 

“Loves the damn dog more than his favorite uncle,” Porthos grumbles, giving Aramis a tight hug. He smells warm and musky, and a little like the cigarette he probably just had outside, and Aramis inhales it deeply. He’s always loved Porthos’ smell, which is probably not something friends strictly think about friends but then again, his feelings for Porthos aren’t strictly friendly. Sometimes he feels like he might be leading Porthos on with this best friend charade but then, maybe he isn’t — he doesn’t have anyone else he’d call his closest friend, save for maybe Athos, who is a traitorous married bastard now. 

“Athos is his favorite uncle,” Aramis dissent just to be contrary.

“Athos is NOT his favorite uncle. Athos took him to a science exhibition at the children’s museum. I teach him how to sword fight. Which one would be your favorite?” Porthos says with an air of finality.

“He loved the science exhibition but think what you want. Sorry for the early wake-up call. I know it’s Saturday. He really wanted to hang out with you,” Aramis says, noticing that Porthos has already ordered a cup of coffee for him and a glass of chocolate milk for Louis. 

“It’s fine, I’m just hungover. I think I might have had an entire bottle of red wine last night,” Porthos groans a little, swiping a hand over his face. Even with his eyes a little puffy and bleary, he’s still a sight for sore eyes. If he wasn’t Aramis’ closest friend, he might consider trying it on with him just to see what would happen. As it happens, he IS Aramis’ closest friend and Porthos has never given him any indication that he’d like to try it on too anyways. 

So, it just goes on like this. Aramis sometimes thinking less-than-appropriate thoughts about his best friend and knowing they’ll never come to fruition. 

Aramis shoves his thoughts aside and focuses instead on enjoying the rest of the day with his two favorite people.

—

On Sunday, once he’s dropped Louis back off at the house, he gives Athos a call to complain about work, like he has every Sunday since Athos went on paternity leave several weeks ago. Athos is like a withering older brother to himself and Porthos and both of them have missed his gentle ribbing that they both take their jobs more seriously if they’re ever going to get promoted too. Athos was promoted to senior sales manager within six months and will probably take over the branch once Treville retires in a few years. 

“I think you’ll do well, Aramis,” Athos says after Aramis finishes telling him about Treville’s hare-brained plan to get him into training somebody new. 

“Maybe. But I don’t just feel uncomfortable about work. It’s everything. I’m not sure what I’m doing anymore or where I stand. The only constant in my life is Louis,” Aramis admits. Athos is easy to talk to about these things — he went through a divorce before he met Sylvie and moved from his small hometown to Paris to start a new life for himself. 

“Well, you have me and Sylvie and Anne. You have Treville, too, even if he doesn’t always show it. And you have Porthos especially,” Athos replies, Aramis immediately clearing his throat.

“What do you mean I have Porthos especially?”

“He’s your best friend, Aramis! Are you really that thick?” Athos laughs loudly and Aramis has to as well. Of course Athos didn’t mean anything otherwise. Of course nobody else has noticed. 

“No, you’re right. He is. I’m lucky to have all of you. I just wish I were more settled. I have my son and my friends and a house but there’s something missing. I don’t feel motivated without whatever it is,” Aramis finally admits carefully.

“You’re lonely, Aramis. Having friends is one thing. Being in love is another. Maybe you should start dating again. It’s been a long time since the divorce,” Athos says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He’s always been a direct sort of person, which Aramis usually likes, but cuts him to the quick in this moment.

“I get along fine without anyone. And it’s not like I don’t have fun with people sometimes,” Aramis protests.

“Having fun and having a life with someone aren’t the same. I won’t bother you about it anymore though. Sylvie wants to say hi,” Athos says, finally dropping the subject. 

Aramis thinks briefly that the conversation isn’t over quite that quickly or easily but is thankful that it is right now. 

—

Aramis does come in early on Monday morning, much to his own dismay and still reeling from his conversation with Athos, and sees that Treville is already in his office too. He always gets in early and stays late, which is why he’s King’s favorite of all the branch managers. It probably also helps that their sales numbers are usually off-the-charts exceptional, too. Even Aramis, who admittedly isn’t the best salesman, can sell ten times as much as some of the people at Richelieu’s branch. 

“Sit down,” Treville instructs Aramis without much ceremony. There’s a cup of coffee waiting for him on the desk, along with a croissant.

“You thought of me. I’m touched,” Aramis says.

“Stop being a smartass,” Treville replies before pushing a piece of paper over at him. “This is d’Artagnan’s training plan. He’s only worked in sales for a year so he’s very green. King hired him, not me, and I’ve never even laid eyes on him, but his resume is impressive. I want you showing him everything about the company, and not just the sales side. You know everyone and everything that goes on in this place, it’s only fair that he does too. The faster you get to know your workplace, the faster you succeed. Do you understand me?” 

“I understand you. I just don’t know if I’m the right person to do this,” Aramis replies slowly, running a hand through his hair.

Treville looks at him for a long moment before sighing. “King wants me to let you go, Aramis,” he finally says.

“Jesus Christ,” Aramis says, putting his head in his hands. He figured it was this but had hoped it wasn’t.

“You heard me. I told him to let me give you one last try. This is your one last try. Succeed with d’Artagnan, get your numbers back up, and you’re out of hot water. And I can be left the hell alone about what my sales team is and isn’t doing while Athos isn’t around,” Treville says. He reaches out to pat Aramis on the back in a gesture that Aramis guesses is supposed to be comforting but from Treville is a little awkward.

He runs both of his hands through his hair once more then looks up at Treville, clearing his throat. “Alright. Let’s go over the training plan.”

—

“Aramis?” 

Aramis turns around at his desk at the sound of his name, smiling when he sees Constance standing there. He laughs a little when he sees the front of her light pink blouse, though, which looks like it’s been drenched in hot tea.

“Very chic look today,” he says to Constance, who begins blushing furiously.

“That would be my fault. I ran into her,” a guy who can’t be more than twenty-six says behind her. He’s tall and tanned, with long-ish black hair that goes past his chin. Aramis rarely meets men that are prettier than him and is a bit offended that he’s found one. 

“Aramis, this is your new charge, d’Artagnan. I’m just here to deliver him to you. And now I’m going to try to dry off,” Constance says, her cheeks beet red, before walking off quickly.

“Nicely done,” Porthos comments beside Aramis, who is also snickering a little. 

“Well, now that I’ve already thoroughly humiliated myself, I’m d’Artagnan,” the guy says, holding out a hand to Porthos, who shakes it heartily, then to Aramis.

“Pleasure. I’m Porthos. I’m in sales too. Won’t be working with you much until you’re out of your initial training, though. Aramis will see to all that, won’t you?” Porthos greets d’Artagnan before slapping Aramis on the back a little too hard. 

“Our senior sales manager, Athos, is on paternity leave for another two weeks. We have a few other salespeople but you’ll mostly be working with the three of us,” Aramis says, but d’Artagnan is looking over at the front desk, where Constance is dabbing at her shirt as she talks on the phone. Aramis shares a meaningful look with Porthos, who is already on it.

“She just got divorced. Leave her alone or I’ll make sure you do,” Porthos says before answering the phone on his desk that’s just started ringing.

“What? I wasn’t — I was just — I don’t know what he means. I feel bad. Like I should get her a new shirt. I’m an ass,” d’Artagnan says. Aramis feels like he should warn d’Artagnan about sleeping with the secretary but he doesn’t really want to get too personal with him too early. It can only end in trouble.

—

The first two weeks of d’Artagnan’s training are uneventful, mostly just learning the software on the computer, how to talk to customers, the specials they run, and a bunch of other boring monotonous shit that Aramis hated learning seven years ago and hates teaching now. 

d’Artagnan is a quick learner and knows how to sell. He doesn’t push the buyer, just gently nudges them towards higher quantities with his gentle demeanor and unassuming boyishness. Aramis can’t believe he’s watching his own technique take place — this was what he was like seven years ago when he first started too and Treville was training him.

He’s also not too proud to admit that d’Artagnan has become a bit of a friend to him as well. d’Artagnan is from a small town called Gascony and just moved to Paris not even a month ago. It had been sheer luck that he was able to find a position so quickly, having met King at a sales expo where the owner had been openly impressed with his sales skills. Aramis can appreciate King’s approach to hiring — he himself was just a call center agent at a car dealership where King was buying from when he’d been asked if he wanted a job. Porthos was scooped up from a local hardware store selling washers and dryers. Even Athos, whose resume was more impressive than all of theirs, was found at the lowest point of his career selling cell phone plans. 

They’re staying late one day so d’Artagnan can learn a little more about the computer software they use when d’Artagnan begins the talk that will change the course of Aramis’ life forever.

“I want to ask Constance on a date,” d’Artagnan tells Aramis without ceremony, looking away from the computer to meet Aramis’ eyes. “What do you think?”

Aramis laughs loudly. “Did you not hear Porthos? She just got divorced. It was finalized less than a month ago.”

d’Artagnan makes a “hmm” noise. “Then I’ll wait. How long is appropriate? Three months? Four months?”

“Three or four months? You’re going to wait to ask a woman out that long? What are you going to do in the meantime?” Aramis asks him. 

“I don’t know — be friends with her? Isn’t that what you and Porthos are doing? Just waiting until the right time?” d’Artagnan replies like Aramis is the dumbest motherfucker in the world.

Aramis is absolutely floored. The thought of Porthos having the same thoughts about him that he sometimes has about Porthos is preposterous. Porthos doesn’t even like men.

“Why would you say that?” he finally manages to get out.

“I don’t know. You’re always whispering to each other and you send each other weird e-mails all the time that are like, in code, that only you guys seem to understand. And you cuddle in the breakroom. I just assumed you were kind of a thing. But correct me if I’m wrong,” d’Artagnan says slowly. 

“You’re wrong. Porthos is my friend,” Aramis says with an air of finality.

“If you say so, man,” d’Artagnan replies and then the conversation is over. 

—

The next day, Aramis tries to catalogue his interactions with Porthos carefully to see if there’s any implication that the other man might have some similar feelings about trying it on together. In the morning, Porthos brings him a cup of coffee from the shop around the corner and a chocolate croissant, which he knows Aramis loves. He sends Aramis several e-mails about how ugly Marcheaux is in their secret code. In the breakroom, he gives Aramis a hug when he says he’s worried about how d’Artagnan’s training is going. It all seems very regular to Aramis up until the afternoon.

“I’ve been asked out by someone,” Porthos says, typing numbers into his computer. 

Aramis stops what he’s doing immediately. 

“Have you?” he says, trying to sound casual.

He’s known Porthos for five years and in all that time, Porthos has only had one girlfriend. Her name was Flea and they dated for two years but broke it off around the same time that Aramis and Anne got divorced. He and Porthos had found a lot of comfort in each other. 

“Charon,” Porthos replies, continuing to type. “He asked me out. I’ve barely spoken to the guy but a free meal’s a free meal, right?”

Charon works in Finance and Aramis hasn’t spoken to him once, but it’s not a secret that he’s gay. He brought a boyfriend to the company Christmas party a few months before but it must be over by now if he’s asking Porthos out.

Something in him feels hot and uncomfortable, and he doesn’t really want to talk to Porthos about this anymore.

“I didn’t know you were interested in men,” Aramis says, regretting it immediately. Sometimes he can be the most tactless person in Paris. 

Porthos just laughs though, his white teeth showing. “There’s a first time for everything, ain’t there?” he says. “Charon’s a good looking guy. Seems only fair to give it a shot, right?” 

“I’m sure you’ll have a lot of fun,” Aramis replies, clearing his throat. “I should get back to work. d’Artagnan! Stop distracting Constance from her very important work and come help me!” he shouts across the room to d’Artagnan, who is doing a very poor job of trying not to look halfway in love with Constance at her desk as they chat. 

Something has gone very wrong. He just isn’t sure of what it is yet.

—

Aramis has Louis for the weekend and is so busy enjoying the time with his son that he forgets the whole thing with Porthos for a while, at least up until he tries to sleep at night — then he can’t think about anything else.

He met Porthos right after Louis was born. Porthos was hired at The King’s Company and trained under Athos, who’d been hired a year before, and the three of them had all banded together like brothers at the company. And although Aramis felt close to Athos, he shared everything with Porthos. This whole business with Charon was going to be the first thing that Aramis couldn’t truly voice his opinion about, and it made him sad to think so.

How can he really oppose Porthos going on dates with other people? They’re not dating. They aren’t even close to dating. Sure, there’s those breakroom cuddles (Aramis will not give them up even if Porthos decides he’s going to get a boyfriend) and the occasional peck on the cheek when they get caught under the mistletoe during the holidays at work but their relationship, for the most part, is strictly platonic. Only Athos disagrees, but Athos didn’t know that Sylvie was flirting with him for six months, so he doesn’t get a vote. 

When Aramis goes back to work on Monday, he’s determined not to ask Porthos about how his date went and instead focus all of his attention on the long-awaited return of Athos.

“We missed you, brother. Did you miss us?” Aramis asks Athos, who rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“You called me every week, I didn’t have time to miss you. I enjoyed the much needed time off with my beautiful wife and daughter. I have pictures that I’m going to show off to everyone who asks and I don’t care who thinks it’s annoying,” Athos says, pulling his phone out already to show Aramis, who’s pleased to see them even though Sylvie’s sent him all the good ones already.

Athos and Sylvie’s daughter, Sabine, is a beautiful little girl, and Aramis feels a pang of want. He misses having a family, a baby — would love to have it again, though he doesn’t know if it’ll ever happen again. He isn’t sure who it could happen again with, who could slot into the life he’s built for himself with Anne, his ex-wife, as a regular guest appearance. Surely no woman or man would be willing to be with a man who still went on friend dates with his ex. 

He ignores the little part of his mind that says, “Porthos,” and chalks it up to temporary insanity. d’Artagnan’s words have really gotten into his head and are holding his generally somewhat sensible brain hostage. He really needs to stop getting so personal with people so quickly.

When Porthos comes into work, he nearly tackles Athos with the force of the embrace he gives him. “You’re back, you bastard! Now c’mon, give me a kiss!” Porthos demands, Athos laughing loudly and smacking a kiss to Porthos’ cheek. “Perfect. Did you give one to Aramis? He’s prettier than I am. Deserves one more.”

“I didn’t. He gets plenty of them from his many suitors,” Athos replies drily. 

It hurts Aramis’ feelings a bit. It may be true that he does sleep around a little bit — it’s Paris — but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate affection from his friends.

“I have no suitors. I want a kiss, too,” Aramis says with a serious pout.

“Ask Porthos. I have to go talk to Treville. I want to meet your charge later, too. I’ve heard his numbers are good already,” Athos says, laughing, before going off to drop his things in his office, which is adjacent to Treville’s.

“Come here, you big baby,” Porthos smiles and pulls Aramis in so he can give him a kiss on the cheek. “How’s that? Or do you need another?”

Aramis takes his seat next to Grimaud, who’s making disgusted noises, and clears his throat. “No, I think I’m in order. Thank you, Porthos.”

—

“You’re not going to ask me how my date went?” Porthos asks Aramis later on in the day, eating some leftover Chinese food in the breakroom. Aramis is eating some of it too, because Porthos always shares with him.

“You didn’t bring it up,” Aramis shrugs.

“We had a good time. Charon’s a laugh. You’d like him,” Porthos says casually, spearing a piece of chicken onto his plastic fork. He’s looking at Aramis thoughtfully, like there’s more he’d like to say but isn’t admitting to.

“Did you sleep with him?” Aramis asks. There’s no point in being subtle now. If he’s going to be jealous he may as well just resign himself to it. 

“Aramis,” Porthos laughs, surprised. “We kissed for a bit on his couch. I quite like men, I think. I mean I always sort of knew I had some feelings for them — it just didn’t feel real until this weekend. How did you know?”

Aramis tries to ignore the lump gradually getting larger in his chest and tries to consider the question. He supposes he’s just always been an equal opportunist when it comes to pleasure, and never thought about the gender of who it was coming from. He tells Porthos as much.

“You’re really from Paris sometimes,” Porthos shakes his head. “When was the last time you were with a man?”

They don’t talk about these kinds of things that much. Sometimes he tells Porthos when he’s had someone over on a week night after too many glasses of wine or a weekend when he doesn’t have Louis. He always sees them off in the morning, though — before Anne he was much more of a lothario, but after the divorce he swore to himself he would never get himself into a situation like that again so he mostly just allows himself a bit of fun once or twice a month and always with an excessive amount of precaution.

“Is this appropriate discussion for the breakroom at work?” Aramis asks.

“No. Are you gonna tell me?” Porthos replies easily.

Aramis sighs. “The last time I seriously dated a man was in college. His name was Marsac. We were both studying Economics. He wanted to get married right after we graduated and I didn’t, so he moved to the States to do a Master’s program and I stayed in Paris. As for anything else, maybe two months ago.”

Porthos looks scandalized. “We’ve been friends for five years and I’m just now hearing that you were almost engaged to be married to another man?”

“He never even proposed. I laughed at him when he suggested it. We were too young. Why are we talking about this? You need to warm this up again,” Aramis says, his face getting hot. He’s only ever talked to Anne about Marsac, who’s never given his bisexuality a second thought. Sometimes when they would go out, near the end, she would let him kiss other men at clubs, watching with her gentle blue eyes as she sipped at a glass of white wine. 

d’Artagnan comes in a moment later with Constance, both of them laughing until they see how serious Aramis looks. “Have we interrupted?” he asks, still trying to wipe the pleased smile off of his face. Constance hasn’t even tried to fight his advances, and seems to like him just as much as he likes her. Aramis knows that she’s still healing from her divorce, though, and d’Artagnan is going to have to do a lot more than spend a few weeks making her laugh to get her to go out with him.

“No. We were just finishing. When you two are done giggling we’ll go over your numbers from last week,” Aramis tells d’Artagnan, who groans loudly.

“I met my numbers. I went OVER my projected numbers. I can’t have a little extra time on my lunch hour today?” d’Artagnan whines. He’s really a very pretty boy and constantly uses his good looks and charm to get his way.

“No,” Aramis says, smiling. “See you in a few.”

He will overcome this thing with Porthos. He will.

— 

Over the course of the week, Porthos invites him out several times for various things — a drink at the pub down the street, a walk with him and Rochelle through the woods near his apartment, dinner at Christophe’s. Aramis declines every single time, trying valiantly to keep his distance so that Porthos suspects nothing. It’s hard enough now to keep his feelings at work at bay. Every act of generosity that Porthos shows, every hug in the breakroom, every little thing he does seems to only increase Aramis’ affection tenfold. Aramis cannot believe that one conversation with d’Artagnan created such a mess of his life and his friendship.

“Porthos has asked me if you’re avoiding him,” Athos tells Aramis one night. Aramis is over at his and Sylvie’s house with Louis, who he has for the next few days. Louis is currently on the couch holding Sabine, looking down at her and singing a Spanish lullaby.

“I’m not,” Aramis lies, watching his son with the baby. “Be careful with her, Lou. She’s only little.”

“He’s alright,” Athos insists. “You’re avoiding talking about this further with me.”

“I’m not avoiding Porthos, I’ve just been busy.”

It’s not fully a lie. He’d gotten a lot of cleaning done at his house, finished organizing all of his books, cooked for himself every night, and began planning a birthday party for Anne in May.

“You’re hurting his feelings,” Athos continues. “He thinks he’s done something wrong.”

“Jesus Christ, I am not avoiding Porthos! I spend every minute of every workday with him, I would think that’s enough to satisfy his appetite of my company,” Aramis spits out. He’s being immature and he knows it. Athos knows as much too.

“I’ve known you to be a lot of things but not petty,” Athos finally says carefully.

“Petty? I have no idea what you mean by that,” Aramis replies.

“Yes, petty. You’re jealous that he went out with Charon.”

Aramis gapes at him openly. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody. Look, I know you think you’re really covert about your feelings for Porthos, but you’re not. And I’m sure he feels the same way about you. I wish you both would pull your heads out of your asses and do something about it but I guess I just have to suffer and be the middleman for the rest of my life,” Athos shrugs, picking up his glass of red wine and taking a long sip from it.

Aramis, for once, is rendered entirely speechless.

“You’re out of line,” he finally decides to say. “Louis, give the baby back to Athos. We’re leaving.”

“But Papa, I’m teaching her Spanish,” Louis says, pouting.

“Louis Rene, we are leaving,” Aramis snaps at Louis, whose lower lip immediately juts out. Aramis rarely raises his voice at his son, only when circumstances are completely out of his control.

“You don’t have to leave,” Athos insists.

“I’d rather we did,” Aramis replies, getting up and going over to retrieve the baby from Louis, who’s starting to cry a bit. He’s always had a sensitive heart, just like his mother and father. Aramis will have to find a way to make this up to him somehow.

“You’re acting like a child, Aramis. Just tell Porthos how you feel,” Athos tells Aramis gently, taking the baby from him.

“Nothing to tell. Come on, Louis. Tell Uncle Athos goodbye.”

They leave before Louis can get the words out of his mouth.

—

In the end, Aramis takes Louis out for ice cream to make up for being short with him. Louis is still a bit sniffly from the interaction and is only taking small bites of his treat here and there. 

“I’m sorry I wasn’t nice to you earlier,” Aramis says gently, reaching over to take Louis’ hand. “Papa and Uncle Athos were having a disagreement. It was time for us to go before I got angry.”

“What were you fighting about?” Louis asks, blinking his big brown eyes up at Aramis. “Uncle Athos is your friend.”

“He is my friend. He thinks I should tell somebody that I want to date them. But I don’t think the other person likes me. So I’m not going to. Do you understand that?” Aramis asks Louis.

Louis frowns a bit, shaking his head. “No. I like you, Papa. Mama likes you too. And Uncle Athos like you. And Uncle Porthos. When are we seeing Uncle Porthos and Rochelle again? I want to play captains and cadets.”

“Soon,” Aramis replies vaguely. “Did you enjoy playing with the baby?”

“She’s very small,” Louis considers. “Can you and Mama have another baby so that I can have one of my own?”

Aramis laughs at that, squeezing Louis’ hand. “No, remember? Papa and Mama are only friends. We can’t have another baby together. Would you like a brother or sister, though?”

“Yes! So I can teach them everything. And have a friend to play with all the time because sometimes you and Mama are too busy to play with me or you have grown up things to do,” Louis sighs, taking a big bite of his ice cream. “Do you want to have a baby with somebody, Papa?”

Aramis clears his throat a little awkwardly. “Very much. But I have to find somebody who wants the same thing.”

“Porthos” his brain supplies helpfully. He’s going to kill d’Artagnan and Athos for feeding into this fantasy. 

“Hmmm. I’ll help you. Where should we start looking?” Louis asks. 

“Let’s not think about that for right now. Are you finished with your ice cream?”

And with that, Aramis finishes another conversation that might have turned out differently. 

—

d’Artagnan has a poorly disguised hickey on his neck on Monday morning and seems absolutely miserable.

“Were you mauled by a small mammal?” Aramis asks immediately, raising his eyebrows.

“No. I didn’t wait. For the right time,” d’Artagnan replies, sounding ashamed. He tries to pull up his collar a little higher to disguise the hickey more and fails miserably. Even Aramis tells the people he hooks up with that they can’t go above his shoulders with their teeth for fear of this exact situation.

“Not Constance,” Aramis frowns, looking over at the secretary’s desk, who is pointedly ignoring everyone in the room and seems wholly focused on her work. Normally she’s greeting everyone with vigor.

“If I tell you, do you promise that you won’t tell Porthos? I don’t want to die,” d’Artagnan asks. Aramis swears he won’t, which means he absolutely will if he ever decides that he’s going to be best friends with Porthos again.

The whole thing seems a little dramatized for what it actually is. d’Artagnan and Constance and a few others went out for a drink at a club and d’Artagnan ended up way drunker than he anticipated and in one of the toilets with Anne de Winter, a salesperson from Richelieu’s branch who recently transferred. Constance had walked in on them and then disappeared for the rest of the night. When d’Artagnan tried to text and called her the next day, he’d found that his number had been blocked.

“We did tell you not to get involved. And workplace romances never work out. I’m a testament to that,” Aramis says, turning around when a cup of coffee is placed on his desk. Porthos is standing there, looking a little dejected. 

“What about workplaces romances never working out?” he says, sitting down at his desk heavily. His rain slicker is drenched — he shouldn’t have gone out to get them coffee on such a rainy day.

“Nothing. d’Artagnan had a...complicated...night with Anne de Winter from outside sales this weekend. Should I tell him all about me and Anne and how that played out?” Aramis says, trying to make light of the situation.

“Everybody knows about you and Anne and how it played out, Aramis. You bring it up once a week. We get it, you’re a testament to it. d’Artagnan, I’d advise you to keep your dick in your pants and far away from Anne from outside sales AND from Constance before all of you end up getting hurt,” Porthos spits out before getting up and walking away from his desk. 

Aramis clears his throat awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. Porthos is rarely angry, and never at him. This isn’t how he anticipated his week starting.

“I’ve heard your ex-wife is nice. And your son,” d’Artagnan says quietly, pulling up his chair next to Aramis.

“Leave it, d’Artagnan,” Aramis says, and d’Artagnan does.

—

Charon from Finance begins to stop by Porthos’ desk over the next couple of weeks regularly with coffee, pastries, sometimes flowers. d’Artagnan is on his own doing sales calls for the most part now so Aramis throws himself into his own, beating his numbers for the past three months in just three weeks. He’s not sure he’s ever sold so much in his life. He’s still avoiding Athos, though the other man regularly texts him good job this week and Sylvie and I miss you and pictures of Sabine that he’s glad to receive. He knows he’s being an ass but he has a point to prove.

Porthos is doing an excellent job of helping him, since he hasn’t done anything even remotely resembling friendly with Aramis since that fateful Monday morning. There’s been no coffee and chocolate croissants, no breakroom hugs, no encouraging words, no e-mails in secret code about d’Artagnan and Constance’s very forced interactions. Porthos hasn’t even asked after Louis, which is the biggest blow. 

What makes it even worse is that they’re in close proximity all day, so Aramis knows that he’s being ignored. He glances over at the other man a lot, watching him negotiate with customers over the phone with enthusiasm. Porthos has a personality that could fill up a room and it does when he’s selling. He smiles and laughs, showing off his bright white teeth and crinkling his expressive eyebrows. He smells good too, musky with that hint of cigarette smoke and sometimes mint from his gum. Aramis wonders what it would be like to kiss his friend, trying to push away the thought but unable to.

He tries hard to just focus on his last week of working with d’Artagnan, who realistically won’t need anymore training, but it’s hard when even his trainee is acting like a lovesick puppy. d’Artagnan spends all the time that he isn’t selling looking moodily over at Constance’s desk, who’s unblocked his number but refuses to speak to him save for giving him his messages and mail. 

“We really were just friends. And I was so drunk. God, I told myself I wasn’t going to let myself do any stupid shit immediately after moving here, and look at me. I did some really stupid shit,” d’Artagnan says one night when Aramis takes him out to dinner. He has Louis for the night but figures it can’t hurt to introduce him to d’Artagnan, who Athos, Aramis, and Porthos all like immensely and probably won’t mind joining their little group. “Sorry, I don’t mean to curse in front of your kid.”

“He knows they’re grown up words. Right, Lou?” Aramis says to Louis, who’s not paying them any attention at all and instead eating his food while he holds on to the baby doll that Anne had got for him to placate his need for a baby brother or sister.

“Yes, Papa,” Louis replies easily.

“He’s cute,” d’Artagnan tells Aramis, smiling. His smile fades though after a moment and he looks down at his hands. “Do you really regret what happened with your ex-wife so much? Because I know it was the same thing. Going on with me and Constance.”

Aramis considers it for a moment, because it isn’t exactly the same thing at all. “It’s not and I don’t. Anne started working there right after college and was basically Treville’s assistant. I should have known better. We only spent one night together. When she found out she was pregnant though she felt so guilty about it that she quit even though she didn’t have to. I probably should have quit with her but then we wouldn’t have had any money coming in to support the baby. So I stayed and got my numbers up and married Anne and Treville didn’t hate me so much anymore. Anne and I were never satisfied with each other, though. She’s more serious than I am. We would have never spoken to each other again if she hadn’t gotten pregnant. I don’t think it’s like that with you and Constance. Is it?”

“No. It’s not like that at all,” d’Artagnan says, looking relieved at Aramis’ answer. “Do you really believe that workplace romances can never work out?”

“I don’t know. I spoke out of turn. I didn’t even have one — it was a badly patched up affair. The best thing that came out of it was a close friendship and my son,” Aramis replies, wrapping an arm around Louis’ shoulders.

“How do I make it up to her? She won’t even speak to me. I’ve tried texting her, calling her, leaving notes on her desk, e-mailing her. She won’t even go along with me messing around with Marcheaux so I can’t make her laugh,” d’Artagnan says, running his hands through his hair.

“You could try just approaching her, you know. Asking her to meet somewhere for coffee,” Aramis shrugs. Louis has his head pillowed on Aramis’ chest now, getting sleepy as he cuddles his doll close. 

“I’ll ask her tomorrow. You should probably get home, I’ve kept you out late enough. It was nice to meet you, Louis,” d’Artagnan says to Louis, who turns his head to smile sleepily at d’Artagnan. 

“Nice to meet you too, Mr. d’Artagnan,” Louis mumbles sleepily, hugging Aramis close.

Aramis has always thought of Anne as a lesson in what happens when you get involved at the office. But really, he considers, did things end so badly?

—

He decides, that night, that he’s going to make things right with Porthos. Even if they’re not going to be romantically involved, he thinks, they can at least be friends. He wishes that things were different, that he hadn’t been an idiot before Charon got involved, but it’s too late for that now.

He FaceTimes Porthos around ten, which is way too late but he can’t wait until morning, and waits impatiently as the phone rings. Porthos answers just as it’s about to stop ringing, looking sleepy and disgruntled. He’s only visibly from the top of his head down to clavicles. Aramis can see his fleur de lis tattoo on his shoulder and the cross necklace Aramis had gotten for Christmas one year that he never takes off. He can also see the beginning of the fine dusting of black hair on his chest that Aramis would like to see more of, but tries to quell that desire for the sake of not breaking his own heart. 

“I’m sleeping,” Porthos tells Aramis pointedly. He’s not — Aramis can hear a re-run of a comedy show playing in the background and the lights are still on in the bedroom. 

“I’m sorry,” Aramis says in lieu of a greeting. “I don’t know what we’re fighting about or why we’re not talking to each other but I’m sorry about it. You’re my best friend. I miss you.”

Porthos isn’t looking at the camera anymore and is focused on some spot on the ceiling. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that, Aramis?” Porthos says.

Aramis stares back at Porthos, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t follow,” he replies.

“You just think that your feelings are the only ones that matter and that you can dictate how other people feel about you too. Well I’m here to tell you that it ain’t like that, brother. You don’t get to decide that we’re all buddy-buddy again just because you miss me. You don’t miss me. You miss taking advantage of me,” Porthos says, cutting Aramis to the quick. Porthos has never been one to mince words but Aramis is rarely on the receiving end. 

“I don’t...I’ve never...Porthos, what are you saying? You’re my best friend. I’d never take advantage of you,” Aramis frowns. 

“Oh really? Who’s the one always bringing you shit at work? Who’s the one always supporting you? Who’s the one that’s always got your back no matter what? It’s me. And who’s the one always taking and taking and taking and never giving anything back except the occasional hug or kiss and day date with his son. That’s right, Aramis. It’s you. I’ve indulged your shit for years because I thought you cared about me but you don’t care about me. You care about how much I do for you. And now you’re encouraging d’Artagnan? Fuck that. You’re fucked up and you’re trying to drag me into it. See you later,” Porthos spits out before ending the call entirely. Aramis has no idea how to feel. 

Naturally, he does the only logical thing.

—

“What do you mean you’re quitting?” Treville demands, looking in disbelief at the two weeks notice that Aramis had carefully crafted after his explosive conversation with Porthos. “You’re numbers are fantastic again. King is satisfied. d’Artagnan is doing well. Why would you possibly want to quit?”

“I’m not happy here,” Aramis supplies unhelpfully. He’s perfectly happy here — he knows everyone, they know him, he’s good at his job, he gets good hours. He doesn’t, however, want to cause anymore problems in his personal or professional life by being in close proximity to the person he loves best in the world.

“Do you want more money?” Treville asks plainly. “Because if it’s more money you want I can go to King.”

“No, Treville, it’s not about money. I’m paid fairly. More fairly than I deserve considering how lazy I’ve been the last few months. I just don’t want to work here anymore.”

Treville just stares at him. “I’m not accepting this. I’m bringing it to Athos. I want the truth of what’s going on and I’ll find it. Go back to your desk. I can’t take you seriously right now.”

Aramis has been expecting a lot of reactions out of Treville but not a full-blown rejection of his letter of resignation, so he goes back to his desk a little shell-shocked, the rest of the office kind of staring at him a bit. Next to him, Porthos annoyingly has a bouquet of flowers on his desk, beautiful red roses, that are signed elaborately with, “Have a good day — x Charon”. Aramis can hardly stand to look at them. 

But the thing is, Porthos doesn’t talk about how well his relationship is going with anybody. When the topic of Charon is brought up, Porthos talks about him like he would a good bowl of soup or a nice box of chocolates. Aramis only knows this because he’s heard Elodie and Constance gossiping about it when they think no one else is listening in the breakroom.

Still, Porthos must be enjoying the attention if he’s still going out with Charon. Aramis always enjoyed the attention from Porthos.

Jesus. Aramis always enjoyed the attention from Porthos.

—

“You know, I always knew that you had feelings for Porthos,” Anne tells Aramis as they share a bottle of wine one night, Louis having already been tucked away in his bed. 

“No you didn’t,” Aramis snorts. “How could you have possibly known?”

“You talked about him all the time like I wanted you to talk about me,” Anne smiles sadly. “You talked about all the funny things he said and did, how he kept you sane sitting next to Grimaud, about your secret language and the little tricks you played on Athos to make him laugh. And then when we split up and he broke up with Flea, you were always with him, even when you had Louis. How many weekends did you spend with Porthos the past three years, with or without Louis?” she asks him.

Aramis thinks about it. Almost all of them.

“A lot,” he admits quietly.

“I understand why he’s angry though, Aramis. You gave Porthos your affection and nothing else and you’ve given that to lots of people. Nothing tangible. He was always providing for you,” Anne says as gently as she possibly can. Aramis hates to be told he’s been unkind.

“But he didn’t tell me he needed anything! I didn’t know. I would have given him it if I’d known. And I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to try it on with him. He’s my best friend. If he didn’t want to it would have ruined everything,” Aramis tries to defend himself but knows that Anne will see right through him no matter what he says.

“Did you ever ask him for coffee or cuddles or support or love or attention?” Anne asks.

“No,” Aramis says after a long pause. 

They sit in silence for a while, Anne pouring them both another glass of expensive white wine. She works as an executive secretary at a law firm now and makes as much as Aramis does, something he’d always wished for her. She would have never made it so far at The King’s Company. She’d been complacent there. Having Louis had given her a purpose.

Aramis might have finally found his.

—

Aramis brings Porthos coffee and an almond croissant on Monday and sets it on his desk before he even arrives. d’Artagnan, who’s already there and in much better spirits now that he and Constance are friends again after a long talk over coffee, gives Aramis a long look.

“I’ll have to tell Athos about this exciting development,” he says with a touch of humor in his voice. 

Aramis really does need to speak to Athos, who hadn’t approached him about his aborted attempt at a resignation. He owes him much more than a coffee and a croissant — probably a year’s supply of coffee and croissants for being the most understanding and generally mild-mannered superior in the world.

“What’s all this?” Porthos says when he gets to his desk, looking over at Aramis. “If you’re trying to be friendly with me again just because you feel guilty then you’re wasting your time. And I heard about you trying to quit. You’re wasting your time there too. I’ll just take the empty spot next to Marcheaux and d’Artagnan can sit here. You two seem to have a lot in common.”

“I’ve heard more nonsense from you two in the last month and a half than I have the entire time I’ve worked here,” Grimaud says, standing up. “The only person whose desk is moving is mine. Stupid motherfuckers.”

“I’ll just...see if there’s any mail for me,” d’Artagnan clears his throat to say before disappearing to chat with Constance. 

Aramis and Porthos sit in silence for a moment before Aramis finally speaks, running both hands through his hair. “It’s not because I feel guilty. You’re right. I was taking advantage of you,” Aramis admits. “I’ve never had a friend like you in my life. Yeah, there’s Athos and Sylvie and Anne but you’re the person who provides for me the most in my life. You’re my best friend,” Aramis says, cursing his cowardice for not allowing him to say the words that he really wants to. But now isn’t the time or place, and he’s still afraid of what might happen if he comes out with it. Porthos is still so angry with him. 

Porthos shakes his head, looking over at Aramis. “You just want me to say it.”

“Say what?” Aramis asks, clueless again.

“You know what. You’ve been leading me on for years and I’ve always taken the bait because I thought someday maybe you’d change your mind. I thought you’d change your mind when you and Anne split up finally. But you didn’t. And now you’re angry that I’m getting on with my life finally,” Porthos says lowly, trying not to draw attention to them but looking like he’s never been more angry in his life. 

“Leading you on? Porthos, please. Let’s go outside and talk about this,” Aramis pleads, reaching out to rest a hand on Porthos’ shoulder. Porthos immediately shoves him off but stands up, and the height advantage he has over Aramis is suddenly noticeable. He’s big and broad-chested and Aramis has never been afraid that Porthos might use his strength against him but this time he’s really questioning it.

“Fine,” Porthos says, Aramis getting up to follow the other man outside.

“What do you have to admit to me, Porthos?” Aramis asks, cutting right to the chase. 

“You know,” Porthos glares.

“I don’t.”

“That I’m in love with you, Aramis! For Christ’s sake, why are you so hellbent on making me humiliate myself in front of you every single day of my God damn life? Huh? What’s your problem? Do you really have such low self-esteem? Do you really need me to be obsessed with you along with the rest of the world?” Porthos finally explodes, ramming his fist up against the wall. Aramis is floored and a little frightened. He’s never seen Porthos like this. He’s seen all kinds of Porthoses but never this — broken down, desperate. 

He’s also reeling from the admission. That his Porthos, the one that he’s been agonizing over for years, the one that he’s been especially tortured over for the past month and a half, has loved him for so long.

“Porthos,” Aramis breathes out, shaking. “Porthos, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I just thought you were being a good friend to me. I’ve been so oblivious. Everybody tried to tell me — Athos, Anne, d’Artagnan. Everybody thought we were already together and I tried so hard to prove that we weren’t because I was so scared of admitting my feelings for you. I thought it would ruin everything. I didn’t know you felt the same. I swear I didn’t. I’ve never wanted to embarrass you or hurt you or whatever you think. Please. You have to believe me,” he says, reaching out to take Porthos’ hands into his. 

“You’ve hurt my so many times, Aramis. Every time you slept with some girl or boy it felt like a knife into my gut. I only asked you about Charon and your past because I wanted to know if you’d ever do it again. You made it seem like you wouldn’t. This feels like a lie to me,” Porthos says, yanking his hands away, but Aramis takes them back, getting frustrated now.

“Porthos! You’re not listening to me! I was so jealous of Charon, I didn’t even know you were interested in men! I want to be with you. I was wrong about workplace romances never working out because we’ve been in one for basically five years and I never even knew it! I want to be with you. I want to marry you. I want to have a family with you. I thought I needed something new in my life, that I was stuck in a rut, but it was all because I was too stupid to see what was right next to me all along,” Aramis says, squeezing Porthos’ hands tightly. “I miss you. Louis misses you,” he continues softly. 

Porthos looks as though he’s been struck, pulling his hands away more gently now so that he can reach up to scratch a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to get my heart broken, Aramis,” he admits. “That’s why I was never direct-like. I thought it was enough to be subtle.”

“I would never,” Aramis insists, bringing one of Porthos’ hands to his mouth so he can kiss his knuckles. “You’ve given me so much. Let me return the favor.”

Porthos softens, finally pulling Aramis into his arms and hugging him close. “God, I’ve missed you. I’ve been so miserable without you,” he murmurs, his lips lingering over Aramis’. 

“The same,” Aramis replies, bringing his hand up to cup Porthos’ jaw. “Porthos, for God’s sake, kiss me.”

And Porthos does.

—

EPILOGUE

In the end, it takes six months for Constance to agree to go on a real date with d’Artagnan. It’s well-earned — d’Artagnan started sending her flowers every week with anonymous cards, leaving hot tea and biscuits at her desk, leaving vouchers for weekend massages on her chair. It’s not discreet at all and Aramis admires it immensely, and no matter how many times d’Artagnan does it, Constance always blushes beet red and tries to hide whatever he’s sent along.

Their wedding is small — neither Constance nor d’Artagnan have many living relatives — but well-attended by friends and office personnel, most of whom are jointly both.

“Are you nervous?” Aramis, who’s been honored to be chosen as best man, asks d’Artagnan from his position right next to the groom. 

“Yes,” d’Artagnan says without hesitation.

Athos and Porthos have also been chosen as groomsmen, Porthos standing next to Aramis and Athos on Porthos’ other side. 

“You shouldn’t be,” Aramis murmurs to d’Artagnan, looking out into the crowd to where Anne is sitting with Louis and his and Porthos’ infant son, Henri.

“Why?” d’Artagnan asks. 

Aramis reaches down to twine his fingers with Porthos’, who immediately squeezes his hand back.

“In my experience, office romances usually work out,” Aramis smiles.


End file.
